Clandestine Sixteen
by narcissmy
Summary: It is Bellatrix Black's sixteenth birthday party. Needless to say the way in which she chooses to celebrate it is as delightfully debauched as the rest of her activities.


**Title: **Clandestine Sixteen**  
Author: **Narcissmy**  
Fandom: **Harry Potter**  
Pairing: **Bellatrix/Rodolphus**  
Rating: **NC-17**  
Warnings: **None.**  
Disclaimer: **Potterverse unfortunately is all J.K's**  
Summary:** It is Bellatrix Black's sixteenth birthday party. Needless to say the way in which she chooses to celebrate it is as delightfully debauched as the rest of her activities.

Bellatrix was sixteen today. She was not content with the dress she was wearing, the champagne was very much diluted for the younger pallet, and she hadn't had a decent cigarette in a couple of weeks. Her mother had taken it upon herself to be her personal escort. Now that she was sixteen, and quite legal to engage in sexual activity, she was a prime candidate for getting into trouble - especially since Bellatrix had always quite liked getting herself into some truly…raunchy and compromising situations. She was not a whore, just a flirty young teenage girl. Young, maybe in age, but certainly not in levels of maturity and looks. In fact, the majority of the pureblood males, be they old or young, were in two minds about strangling her or fucking her. With Bellatrix Black, no-one could really tell whether that would shut her up - not even if her air supply was constricted. Besides, laying a finger on a Black daughter, and a Black daughter with a fiery temper and skill with a variety of painful body binds and curses, was not a good idea - and no-one, it appeared, was stupid enough to try it after that stupid, up herself Hufflepuff half-blood (Whom you had to feel sorry for, really), had tried it and nearly ended up paralysed. Stupid bitch.

That was sufficiently hushed up, actually, by the headmaster at the time. Bellatrix's family, although not completely oblivious to the fact that most of the general public knew exactly what Bellatrix was capable of, did not want word getting out that their daughter was a typical hooligan. They knew that with Bellatrix, depending on the level of the insult thrown at her by a lowly Hufflepuff half-blood, and what the insult referred to, calmness and rationality was definitely not a possibility. Narcissa would have been a little more subtle perhaps, sticking her foot out as they walked past so that they tripped down a couple of flights of stairs. Andromeda would have been the one to out think them, though all the sisters were rather intelligent in their own little ways. Bellatrix, or whoever it was that started the duel, had absolutely slaughtered the girl with a variety of well timed curses and hexes. In Bellatrix's defence, for once, it had not been her that had started it. She had been sat down, and it had been talked over with her. Druella had made perfectly sure that she received her punishment for her unruly and unladylike behaviour, by allowing her daughter the absolutely delightful pleasure of her mother's constant act of chaperone throughout the summer holidays. Bellatrix wished that she had never attacked that worthless piece of scum.

And so, here she stood, smiling politely at the beginning of what was meant to be her evening, being introduced by her father, Cygnus Black. Bellatrix knew exactly what her father was trying to do. By parading her about in front of people like this, whilst she looked her absolute best (And when their wealth was clearly displayed in the form of their extravagant and lavish party decorations), he was effectively communicating the message that anyone who asked for her beautiful hand in marriage would be receiving not just a stunningly beautiful wife, but also a rather large dowry. Bellatrix was sickened by the fact that at sixteen, marriage was already on the cards. She had informed her mother quite calmly at the breakfast table that this was her night, and she would dance with whom she pleased, regardless of 'social credibility'. To emphasise that point, at the beginning of the evening, she had ripped up her dance card and scattered it like confetti over the dance floor. House elves had hurried to pick it up, being just ten or so minutes before the party, muttering frantically under their breath, but it had communicated the message successfully, and Bellatrix's mother had managed to leave her alone for the rest of the night.

Now she was bored. She had danced with everyone that had asked her, save that rather creepy looking older boy who had stared fixatedly at her well formed chest right the way through what she had made sure was a rather brief conversation. When she had asked if she would like a drink, she'd said yes, and when he'd handed it to her, she'd subtly lifted his waistband and poured the sticky punch right the way down the front of his trousers, licking her lips seductively as the amorous expression that had formed on his face when she seized the material that covered his bottom half- stupid bastard - quickly morphed into a glowering expression and a hiss of the word, "bitch", as she walked away, triumphant in her defeat of the enemy. She had been making her way off the edge of the dance floor when she had been pulled back on by a pair of strong arms covered in a high class silk black shirt. She turned around to come face to face with Rodolphus Lestrange, a disgustingly handsome pureblood who seemed quite interested in her - but was three years her senior. The music switched to a swift, staccato rhythm, and almost instantly, they switched to the tango hold.

Rodolphus had frustrated her for many years now, and she had absolutely no doubt that she had exactly the same effect on him; in many more ways than one. She delighted in the fact that she was almost classed as out of bounds for him, off limits. This dark prince of Slytherin that was quite renowned for his Satanic streak, and that wonderfully unforgiving smile laced with malice and unspoken promise of great things to come. However, as much as she enjoyed flaunting the fact that she was forbidden fruit in front of him, it did get a little tiring when, by doing so, she was actually fanning the flames of her own desire as well. She had always been a sexual young female, and when you combined that with the fact he was a rather dark, handsome young wizard who was also an overly-sexed teenager, you produced a match made in heaven (Or the fiery depths of hell). One particular thing she liked to do was to go to his office when he was planning for a Quidditch game, him being Team Captain. She'd wear some nice new stockings, appropriate when hidden, but not so appropriate when worn with a pencil skirt complete with thigh-high split. Of course, she was not a complete hussy, she did wear robes to the office, but her robes usually became discarded as she locked the door and decided that she quite wished to sit on his lap.

He had been overly uncomfortable with the whole deal, yet he did not let it show on his face. Perhaps this had been what Bellatrix liked about him - the fact that he knew when to remain indifferent, and when to go absolutely crazy, as she'd seen him do when someone had angered him; they had shared a common room, after all. Just because she didn't hang around with him, outside of their pureblood parties and tango classes, it did not mean that she did not see him on a day-to-day basis. Bellatrix, as much as she hated to admit it, liked watching him. He was aristocratically beautiful, that deadly whisper that assured you that he could be as placid as he wanted to be, and lull you into a false sense of camaraderie, but at the same time, like the serpent that was head of the house he was sorted into, he could lie dormant and strike when he felt especially necessary. People who underestimated Rodolphus Lestrange would soon find that it was their mistake. Bellatrix had never seen him lose in a duel, and certainly not in a hand to hand contact. Broad he was - well built from an early age. A fact she'd whisper in his year when she slid off of his desk and onto his lap, one lithe thigh either side of his own. She'd nip and nuzzle his neck and feel him grow hard beneath her, sometimes even going to lift and roll his hips against her (Which was pleasurable for both of them), but he'd still insist on going on with his Wronski feint this, and Wronski feint that. Occasionally, he'd slip up and write her name or a swear word on his carefully constructed plans, and she delighted in that. The fact that she made him loose some of his placidity. Bloody indifferent shit. Sometimes, he'd look at her, the fifteen-year-old slipping her tongue out to trace the smooth column of his neck, with an expression that suggested he was incredibly torn. Sometimes, she was glad he'd resisted…because sex on his desk wouldn't have been too comfortable, though it would have been incredibly exciting.

It wasn't so much the fact that she couldn't have him that Bellatrix disliked, because, should she have wanted him enough at that particular point in time, she would have had him, no matter how many times he attempted to resist. It was the point he made of physically denying himself the pleasure of her, when he was obviously aroused enough, and then sating himself with some pureblood whore that wasn't anywhere near as attractive as her, and probably not as daring either. Maybe sate wasn't the right word - perhaps…relieve himself with, or take his pleasure of. From what she had heard, he had never been a particularly gentle lover…not savage completely, no, but enough so that you knew that this was not going to be an ongoing relationship. Terminated. He had the right approach to things, she supposed. If she had sated his dark streak, which she was quite sure she could, then repeat performances would have been required…and had they had a little slip-up, she was too young to marry to avoid the embarrassment of a bastard child. She was quite sure that in the passion they shared, carelessness was difficult to avoid.

She was smiling slightly as he held her in his arms, forcing her through the steps of the dance. She smiled slightly, despite her venomous thoughts of actually de-balling him if he carried on leading in such a way.

"Aww, look. Lestrange likes this dance - it's the only one that makes him feel like a man. The only one he gets to lead in." Her words were successful in goading him, and he tightened his grip considerably on her waist, causing her to suck in her breath.

Some people had stopped to watch them march through the steps of the tango with an unfaltering attitude. From a young age, their dance teacher had acknowledged that these pair were unrivalled when it came to the particularly aggressive dance, and held a skill for the choreography beyond any other purebloods he had ever taught. It was slightly worrying that they acted out such an adult scene so well, but the purebloods seemed to be adept at discarding pieces of information that didn't quite match up to their ideal views.

"Don't test me, Black. I have something that might interest you. When the music finishes take the stairway up to the recreation room. I'll take the servant's stairs and meet you there."

They had formed an uneasy sort of alliance at Hogwarts, at least for the time he had been there. The deal had been if he saved her from the boring company of the dull other pureblood females at the time, then she would pay him back at a later date; there was absolutely no question that she knew what that payback required. However, Bellatrix had been sure that before he left, he would have had her. And yet, even today, she remained virginal. After someone denied themselves interest for so long, Bellatrix's determination turned to annoyance; a Black woman did not chase anyone - and she was certainly annoyed that he had never lusted for her perhaps as strongly as she seemed to lust for him, though the physical evidence did belie this fact.

"I fail to see what it is you have, Lestrange, that would interest me. Or why I should take orders from you. This is my party." Rodolphus instigated a particularly tricky step, specifically designed to challenge her; maybe he was hoping she'd lose her balance so he could carry her off the dance floor. Unfortunately for him, he had not anticipated her skill, and she negotiated the step relatively easily, making sure to step on his toe as she did so. Cheeky fuck. He was dancing with that wonderful look so perfect for the tango, that look that made Bellatrix want to bite it off his face. She didn't like the reactions he provoked in her, because, as afore stated, Bellatrix Black did not chase anyone - not even a devastatingly attractive young, male, pureblood heir. He turned her around quite abruptly and they staccato walked, her dainty fingers on his forearms, curled into the fabric of his shirt. He bent his head low to her ear.

"Lift the left shirt sleeve approximately an inch." Bellatrix huffed but did so. All she needed to see was the top quarter of the skull, the black mark so many people classed as torrid. She masked her surprise superbly, and as she spun back around to finish the dance in a daring position with her leg hooked around her waist and his lips inches from hers, she told him that she'd be there in five. She hated the way he smirked to himself as he bowed and then walked off towards the edge of the dance floor. When she was quite sure he had slipped inauspiciously to through the kitchen door, she politely excused herself to the circle of girls she had fallen into and made her way out of the ballroom to visit "the powder room".

***

Bizarrely, Bellatrix reached the recreation room before Rodolphus. She couldn't quite make out whether this was planned or not, considering when he strolled in through the servant's entrance she felt rather trapped. Bellatrix hated feeling trapped. As he entered, she crossed her arms huffily across her chest, impatient now to see the mark that had been burned into his skin so beautifully, that he had dangled tantalisingly close to her and then snatched away again. She was growing impatient. Bellatrix tended to get like that. She had lost interest in him because he had denied her access to his body for so long, and access to his mind too, in a bizarre way. He had never tried to engage her in conversation, and had certainly never approached her for anything than a polite hello that was required by society.

Instead of looking at him, she made sure to scan the recreation room that she actually hadn't seen that much of. The 'recreation room' was another way of referring to the bar room, or where Cygnus threw his own private parties that he thought his daughters didn't know about. The faint smell of tobacco clung to the air like an expensive perfume and wrapped around her slight frame and heaving bosom. She realised that she was angry, but she didn't know why; just that he made her angry. She was worried about how much this excited her. When she turned around, ready to tell him to get on with it, she gasped slightly when she realised that he had walked forward and had come to stand directly in front of her, so that she was forced to look up into his handsome face. Her expression was perfectly controlled, even a little harsh.

"Yes Lestrange. Did you want something?"

Rodolphus laughed, and she scowled slightly, wondering what was so funny about this whole deal. He put his hands to her waist, and she caught sight of his left forearm, and why they had come up here together.

He followed her gaze to his left forearm and smirked slightly. This was not right. Did he think that the ball was in his court here? She would start by giving herself height advantage. She was a relatively tall teenager, but he was three years older than her and taller anyway, so she hoisted herself up onto the snooker table, smirking to herself as she found herself looking down on his profile. His expression hardened, and she leaned forward a little, laughing to herself as he became slightly distracted by the look down her top at her ample bosoms.

"The mark Lestrange."

The sound of her voice within the small room seemed to awaken him from his breast-induced stupor, and he straightened up. She was getting impatient; the mark lay beneath this robe sleeve.

"What's in it for me, Bellatrix?" Bellatrix huffed indignantly. Why was he fooling around here? He had become a Death Eater, signed his soul over to the Dark Lord, and here he stood, taunting her with the process.

"Nothing's in it for you, you shit. You brought me up here under false pretences. You told me you would show me the mark."

She turned her head to the right, away from him. He stepped forward and put his lips to her pulse point, flicking his tongue down the column of her neck.

"And what do you think you're doing?" She asked, though she made no attempt to turn her head towards him as he made his way down her neck with his soft bites and kisses and to the mounds of her breasts, pushed up by the corset she had on. He knew what he was doing with his mouth - she was not about to stop him.

"I'm kissing your neck and breasts, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix growled slightly, grabbing the thick of his dark hair and yanking his head up from her breast, despite the fact she rather liked it. Lestrange's mouth on her was strange…new territory. Hastily, she wound her legs around his waist and yanked him towards her, wrapping one arm around his neck and letting the other one travel down his arm. As she took his bottom lip into her mouth and suckled slightly, his dark gaze locking on to hers and his pupils dilated. He was such an aroused fool that he didn't notice her yanking the sleeve of his robe up. When she was quite sure that she could see everything she yanked it up and held his arm firmly in her grip, below the swell of her bosom. She looked up at him, silently fuming, his arousal rather evident, even beneath his robes.

"I must say Lestrange, I'm quite surprised you had it in you." She laughed at this, because it really had double meaning; the fact that he had finally decided to show interest (Quite visibly, too), and the fact he was evidently a Death Eater now. She brought his forearm to her mouth and ran her tongue along the slight grooves and ridges of his mark, refusing to break eye contact with him. She had chased after him for a long time, and it was his turn to wait now that he wanted her.

"Well, now that I've seen it, I'll be off. People to see, parties to attend. Ways to get my dark mark to be planned." She smirked and slid off the pool table, but his body was rock between her and the door and his eyes were unforgiving.

"You don't honestly think that was the only reason I brought you up here?"

Bellatrix shrugged, making sure that she played the little girl act perfectly, and that one strap to her gown fell off her shoulder.

"Mister Lestrange, I don't know what you mean…if you're insinuating…"

She frowned, and wrung her hands together, enjoying the little performance she was putting on. He was livid now, and he practically shoved her back up onto the pool table. She laughed with an almost manic urgency, because she had managed to provoke a reaction from him, and gain control of the situation, even when he had height, weight and position advantage. He bit at her neck savagely, and she hissed in fear of him marking her. The pain was good, yes, but her mother would go absolutely ballistic if she ventured downstairs after this little liaison with bite marks all over her neck, in plain view of everyone at the party. Bellatrix didn't care about that, but her mother would kill her; and Druella's wrath was a fierce one, incredibly difficult to live with, too. He, however, didn't seem to concerned about the fact he had de-corseted her, the red boned material lying to the side of the table, and that her breasts were bare beneath his gaze, touch and plundering mouth and tongue, which was ghosting up her belly and around each nipple. Bellatrix was rather amused by his ministrations, but she growled again when he bit down on a nipple particularly savagely. Grabbing a tuft of his hair again, she pulled his head up from her breast once more.

"You mark me, and you won't walk out of this room alive. I am not your property." Rodolphus was stripping away at her skirts with a vicious air to him, and Bellatrix was tossing her raven hair, that had become unpinned and flowed down her back. She stopped him, bringing his mouth up to hers and allowing her tongue to stroke over his lips and tongue."I hardly see this as fair, Lestrange. Oh, I see! The birthday suit for the birthday girl." Rodolphus laughed against her ear, a hollow husk, and Bellatrix shivered unwillingly, his hot mouth closing around her earlobe.

"I don't like the idea." She hissed as he dropped his head to the waistband of her knickers and drew his tongue around the rim.

"Get up on the table."

Rodolphus didn't seem to pay her command any attention, so she scrammed her nails rather harshly down the side of her face and jammed her legs shut."On the table, or I get dressed and leave."

Rodolphus looked between her and the door for a few minutes, clearly contemplating whether he should take heed of her, or ignore her and watch himself lose it all. She did look rather delicious in her lace trimmed satin, suspenders and stockings. And he had waited an awfully long time for her. He jumped up on the table quite lithely, smirking to himself slightly as he turned away from her to take his shirt off. She sat behind him, the heat of her belly pressed against his skin, and the scram of her nails scoring down his back, followed by peppered kisses and bites.

"So tell me, Lestrange. When are you telling Him about me?"

Rodolphus stiffened visibly and whirled around to speak to her.

"You don't tell the Dark Lord anything." He had become slightly annoyed with her, but she wound her arms around his neck and brought his head back to her breast, moaning slightly and arching her back so that her taut nipple reached the warm, wet confines of his unforgiving mouth, torturing her with each lick and each suckle. Bellatrix's hands were already at his tight fly, and easing the zipper down was proving difficult considering the bulge he was presenting her with. She smirked slyly, thinking that this had not been the first time she had been presented with Rodolphus' erection. But it was still the first time he was acting like he was willing to do something with it.

She left him to let herself fall onto her back onto the pool table, and no sooner had she lay down then his hands were at her damp knickers, easing them down her lithe thighs, biting at her legs as more flesh was revealed. She was through with waiting around and she brought his hand to her impatiently, spreading her legs wider for him, her own fingers stroking over herself as she bit her lip to suppress a moan. Providing him with too much noise would just make his head feel unnecessarily large; and that was not the aim here. The aim was to get her pleasure from him (Finally,) and then walk away from this situation, a debauched virgin with a slipping halo and a sated grin on her face. She was momentarily disorientated when the press of his lips and nip of his teeth left the hollow of her neck and his face reappeared between her legs.

"No. Rodolphus, that's not…"

She clamped her mouth closed, chewing quite visibly on the inside of her cheek and writhing with each sweep of his tongue. A warm, wet passage between her legs which made her hips buck and her knees weaken, and the desire pool and throb at one point between her legs. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and urged him upwards before the whole moment was ruined by her reaching completion before him.

As Rodolphus crawled up her body, she hooked her legs around his broad back, digging the heels of her shoes into the skin there and watching as he winced and convulsed slightly, obviously undecided as to whether he should lean into the pain, or writhe away from it. She laughed at him, his hips moving back and for, and whilst he was distracted, reached down to unbutton his boxer shorts and slip her hands inside, taking him in her hot little hands and guiding him forward.

"Are you a virgin, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix was not ashamed.

"Yes." She watched him smile and bend his head to suckle at her nipple.

"This does not mean you are honoured; this simply means no-one else was here instead of you in the current situation. I was planning on losing it tonight anyway."

Rodolphus looked up abruptly, his expression confused, rough hand against her ribcage, fingers closed around one nipple.

"To who?"

Bellatrix shrugged slightly.

"Why? What does it matter to you?"

Rodolphus shrugged too, mirroring her earlier actions. Bellatrix's lips quirked up unexpectedly.

"Rodolphus…you're not…jealous that I would give myself to someone else? A little disappointed this doesn't mean more to me? It's just a flap of skin, Lestrange - nothing significant."

He had rested his head against her shoulder briefly, obviously contemplating and thinking over her words and their meanings. Bellatrix was haunted slightly by the tender gesture.

"Beside, Lestrange, I'm sure Malfoy could have done a commendable job of breaking…"

At this point, Bellatrix was forced to break off, because, as she had hoped, he thrust inside of her. The tear of her maidenhead was painful, and she cried out, glancing quickly at the door and wondering if they could hear them downstairs. The thought was strangely thrilling, and she moaned and rubbed herself against him. When she thrust her hips at him demandingly, he hissed at her, but quirked an eyebrow in surprise. He had obviously not thought she would have wanted to carry on, and in deference with her soreness, he moved slower than he would have on a normal basis. However, with each thrust of her hips, he became bolder, and before long he was hitting a spot inside of her which caused her legs to shake and her lower abdomen to contract. Pleasing to the point of painful.

He was grunting slightly, and her own hand was between them, alternating between gently cupping at his sac and spreading her juices over her sensitivity liberally. Rodolphus moaned at the sight and buried his head in the crook of her neck to continue to thrust, smiling slightly as her mouth fell open and she thrust her hips at him eagerly for the last time. The trembling of her legs was tempting around him, warning him of her release and encouraging his own, however, it was the final convulsions and contractions of her around him that caused him to spill into her. Her breathing pattern was irregular, eyebrows knitted slightly in confusion at what had just happened. He laughed and her eyes shot open, pupils dilated and irises bright and blue. She ignored the ache between her legs stubbornly.

"Bellatrix, do recover a little bit quicker dear. The party calls."

She huffed slightly and jumped down off the pool table, making sure to stretch with her back to him, and look over her shoulder at him, the long cascade of her hair the perfect, ebony frame for naked porcelain skin. Her muscles screamed with the movement, but she wasn't going to show him that. Bellatrix took special care over re-arranging herself in the mirror-panelled walls, and smiled slightly, tapping her finger against the pool table covering, smeared with a mixture of her blood and his seed.

Rodolphus' answering smile made her toes curl.


End file.
